


Great Decisions and the People Who Make Them

by Margo_Kim



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margo_Kim/pseuds/Margo_Kim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the one hand, one might argue that it would be irresponsible for Darcy to sleep with her boss on the roof of their workplace while they kill time waiting for one of Jane's magical storms to hit. But on the other hand, Darcy’s here, Jane’s here, and their clothing shouldn’t be. Which, let's face it, is a way more compelling argument.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Decisions and the People Who Make Them

Jane breaks away from the kiss with a giggle and says, “Wow, I’ve never done this before,” to which Darcy replies, “Relax, I did this all the time in undergrad,” and, okay, these are the opening lines to a lesbian porno written by straight guys and staring women whose nails are too nice and too long for sticking in vaginas, but Darcy’s nervous too. She wishes she were drunk or high or just stupid because then she’d have an excuse. She should have a really good reason to be seriously contemplating tearing off the sweatshirt of the woman she’s interning for, on the roof of the building where Erik is covering the storm monitors for them. Because Darcy knows better. She does. Really.

Because technically, yes, they should be doing science right now. And technically, yes, they were only supposed to be up here for a few minutes to get some fresh air after nine straight hours of staring at the monitors for a storm that they’d thought was going to hit six hours ago. This could be considered dereliction of duty, but on the other hand, they brought a laptop up with them, it’ll buzz if something happens, and clearly nothing’s going to happen or it would have happened by now. And besides, the way Jane’s biting her lip right now is way more interesting than atmospheric pressure fluctuations representing—oh God, that phrase is so boring Darcy can’t even both to finish.

So in conclusion, Darcy’s here.  Jane’s here. Their clothing shouldn’t be. What more of a reason do they need?

Alright. The matter’s settled. Crazy, inappropriate rooftop lesbian sexy times it is.

Darcy’s hands clutch the thick wool of Jane’s sweater and up it goes and off it comes until Jane standing in front of Darcy in just her thin white tee shirt and jeans, simultaneously strangely naked and not nearly naked enough. It’s chilly for a summer evening, with a decent breeze blowing through. It’s chilly, and Jane apparently doesn’t believe in bras. Her tiny brown nipples proudly jut forth. Jane follows Darcy’s eye line and giggles again. “Don’t stare,” she says as she tucks her hands into her armpits. “You’re making me self-conscious.”

“Dude, why?” Darcy asks and tickles her sides until Jane’s hands come down to smack Darcy’s away. Darcy grabs Jane’s wrists and holds them tight when Jane tries to cover up again. Jane’s still laughing a little. Laughing and panting. So’s Darcy. “You’re so hot.”

“Thanks.” Jane ducks her head, her hair falling like a curtain across her face, and Darcy wants to sweep it back, but that would mean letting of Jane’s wrists, and that would mean Jane covering up, and that would mean unacceptable things are happening. “You too.”

“Thanks.”

And then they’re kissing again, and standing—standing is no good. Darcy’s knees are misbehaving on her. They keep buckling. Darcy shuffles backwards and Jane shuffles with her, never disconnecting for a moment until Darcy’s knees hit the lawn chair and she sits her ass down. Without missing a beat, Jane straddles her lap and tangles her hands in Darcy’s long, thick, awesome hair. Jane kisses like she’s talking, like she’s whispering long, complicated words into Darcy’s mouth that would change the way that Darcy thinks about the world if she understood any of them. Then Jane sucks on Darcy’s lower lip and Darcy gets her ass out of metaphor (or wait was it a simile?) because what’s a meta for (you see what she did there?) when this hundred pound astrophysics is sucking and writhing in a way that’s making wearing clothing physically painful.

“Jane,” Darcy moans, trying to lean out of the kiss so they can get to the naked bits, but Jane just leans further in and puts her mouth back against Darcy’s (then puts it slightly inside). One of Jane’s hands stay on Darcy’s head to keep it in place. The other one zips down to Darcy’s jacket and starts unsliding it.

Did Darcy mix that up? Her bad. It’s just that Jane’s tongue is gently licking the top of Darcy’s mouth, and Darcy? Is super into that, apparently.

Ignore the phrasing then. What’s important is that the jacket now is open and then it’s off and finally Jane’s hand is at the hem of Darcy’s shirt. Her fingertips brush skin and it feels like a lightning bolt. Then it’s a thunderstorm as that hand is joined by the other and they are going up, up, up, and taking the shirt with them.

Jane and Darcy break the kiss long enough to pull the shirt off and toss it somewhere behind Jane that’s hopefully still on the roof. Darcy’s mouth feels empty.

“Wow,” Jane says. It’s the same tone she used when she saw the new shots from the Hubble Telescope, which is definitely flattering. Darcy’s on par with the wonders of the universe. Darcy’s always suspected as much.

Like all women with freaking awesome but sometimes stupidly wobbly chests, Darcy _does_ believe in bras. Jane runs her hands over the satin with a look of awe. “You can take it off, you know,” Darcy says and Jane laughs again and says, “I’m too nervous. Isn’t that dumb?” Yeah, yes it is, so Darcy reaches back and unhooks it herself. Jane takes a breath like it’ll be her last in awhile. And Darcy smiles her wickedest smile and slips her bra off.

“Wow,” Jane says again. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, I know,” Darcy replies, because, yeah, she does. Her hands tug at the bottom of Jane’s tee shirt. “Now you.”

“It’s going to be so anticlimactic after you,” Jane grumbles good-naturedly, and then she lifts her arms and Darcy pulls up. It’s not anticlimactic. Nope. Not at all. She’s small, yeah, but that’s not a synonym for bad. That’s really just another way to say adorable, well-proportioned, really fucking sex in a fun-sized kind of way.

Or bite-sized. And doesn’t that a good idea?

Darcy scoots Jane forward on her lap (partially because, as much as Darcy’s loving the straddling, her legs are getting tingly from the lack of blood flow as much as arousal) until their chests are pressed directly against each other, Jane’s petiteness and Darcy’s opulence rib to rib, heart to heart, nipple to nipple to nipple to nipple. “I’m gonna kiss your tits,” Darcy says. “That’s cool, right?”

Jane’s skin tints to match the dusk sky behind her. “Sure,” she says. “That’s cool.”

There’s nothing quite like hearing _yes_ , Darcy thinks as her hands slide down to cup Jane’s ass and gently lift her up. Jane rises until her chest is just below eye level. Her thighs are already shaking a bit. Darcy’s gonna make that worse.

“Ah,” Jane says as Darcy runs her tongue over her left nipple. Ah, just a little grunt of air, like the sound you make when you dip your toe into the ocean and find out it’s cold. Her nipple is hard as a pebble and round as a cherry and dark as chocolate.  The soft white skin above it bursts with goosebumps. Ah, ah, ah goes Jane as Darcy licks and sucks and licks. She can feel Jane’s nipple hardening even more under her tongue and this is Darcy’s favorite thing, really, the _best_ part about sex. This is someone whose body is literally changing as a result of what Darcy is doing. That’s a fucking heady thought.

Darcy switches to the right breast, keeps the left hard with her hand. Jane’s silent now, her head thrown back, her legs shaking with the effort of supporting herself, her knuckles white as she grips the armrests. Darcy doesn’t like quiet.

Jane hisses like a balloon with a leak as Darcy scrapes her teeth over Jane’s nipple and gently bites. “That’s mean,” Jane says.

Darcy does it again, a little less gently. Just to see what happens.

Jane tangles her hands in Darcy’s hair and falls headfirst into Darcy’s mouth. She nips at Darcy’s lips and sucks on Darcy’s tongue and rocks their hips together over and over and over again until Darcy can’t breathe, until Darcy can’t remember how, until Darcy’s just holding on, running her hands over as much of Jane as she can manage and when Jane pulls back, Darcy whimpers and tries to follow. Jane presses one finger to Darcy’s forehead and pushes her back. “That’s what you get for teasing,” Jane says.

Darcy’s brain is still fizzing and sparking, so for a second she just stares at Jane with her bruised lips and her fucked up hair and the most she can think is _guh_. But Darcy’s always been a smart girl, even when her brain isn’t working, so while her conscious mind is just quietly whispering _holy fuckballs, Jane is not the innocent nerd I thought she was_ , some baser instinct takes over Darcy’s body, sits her up, and moves her hand to the crouch of Jane’s jeans. Jane’s twitch as Darcy rubs the wet denim kicks Darcy’s brain back into action. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

Jane groans at that, or maybe she moans. “That’s terrible. You’re terrible.”

“Girl, don’t even,” Darcy says as her fingers undo the button. “I’m amazing.”

This once, just this once, Darcy’s glad Jane wears such loose fitting mom jeans. Jane’s so freaking tiny that all Darcy needs to do is unzip the zip, grab the belt loops, and pull until Jane scrambles off Darcy’s lap to kick them free with her back to Darcy. Some weird last minute claim at modesty. Darcy watches the muscles of Jane’s back as she takes a breath and turns around.

And Darcy, she’s thinking a lot of things, mostly along the lines of _aw yeah, I’m gonna touch the shit out of everything I see_ , but when she opens her mouth, what comes out is, “You have a PhD and you wear Hello Kitty underwear?”

Jane looks down and shrugs. “They’re cute.”

“Yes. Yes, they are,” Darcy agrees and, yes, they are with that little face on a scrap of fabric that’s now the only thing Jane is wearing, a scrap of fabric so tight and wet that Darcy can tell you that Jane’s side on the eternal pussy shaving debate. Spoiler warning: she’s pro.  “I’m fighting back so many pussy puns,” Darcy says. “I want you to know that and to appreciate it.” Things like _I wanna pet your pussy_ and _That’s one pussy that’s about to get licked clean_ and _I wanna run my hand up and down your puffy pink pussy lips until you scream so loud they call the cops on us_ although Darcy’ll concede that the last one loses the spirit of punning a bit.

Jane grins and drops to her knees in front of Darcy. “I’m very appreciative,” she says in a way that would be hella suggestive even if she weren’t unzipping Darcy’s fly. “Up,” Jane orders, and Darcy’s happy to obey as Jane pulls her pants down and tosses them somewhere, all while her grin switches between giddy and embarrassed and wicked.

And now Darcy’s just sitting there— _on the roof of her workplace with her boss_ , Jesus, Darcy should just type this up and send it to Penthouse—in nothing but a thong with a shamrock on the front that’s a little stretched out at the moment due to the serious pube afro Darcy’s sporting right now. “Yeah, that’s right,” Darcy says. “I’m a natural brunette.”

Jane laughs, which is good because for a second there Jane looked really freaked out because when you’ve only ever pulled down a guy’s pants, the sight of panty-clad hairy lady bits at eye level can be pretty discon-fucking-certing. But Jane’s smart. She’s adaptable. She’s never one to back down from a challenge, and she’s looking at Darcy’s crouch right now like it’s a problem to be solved. Although if that problem is _Ouch, ouch, I’m so wet and hot my pussy literally hurts, what the fuck should been done?_ then Jane is ignoring the obvious solution.

“Do you need a hint?” Darcy asks.

Jane flicks Darcy’s inner thigh. “Shh. I’m thinking.”

“It’s really not that complicated.”

“Darcy,” Jane says in her professor voice, “if something’s worth doing, it’s worth being thoughtful about it.” Her hands stroke up and down Darcy’s thighs as she talks, getting closer and closer to the center before backing off.  “I want to consider this from all angles.”

Darcy pointedly scoots her butt closer to the edge of the chair. “How’s this angle? Does that help? I mean, I don’t want to pressure you or anything, and no one should do anything they don’t feel comfortable doing, but someone needs to do something to my clit soon or I will die. You know. If you think you can handle that.”

Jane gives her a look like _don’t be an idiot_ and dives in headfirst. And it’s like, _wow_ , seriously, God bless you and your family. Thanks. Thanks, world. You’re a pretty cool place to be in right now. Because Dr. Jane Foster is pulling aside Darcy Lewis’ thong and licking Darcy Lewis’ cunt with Dr. Jane Foster’s tongue. How is that not freaking amazing?

And her tongue’s nervous at first, Darcy can tell. It darts about like a cat at milk (or is the pussy at the wrong side of this simile?), going here and there and everywhere, finding the right spot and swanning off. But it’s not nervous long.

“Fuck,” Darcy says or, perhaps more accurately, _fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_ , as Jane’s tongue flicking against her clit turns it into a seven syllable word. And it’s weird, it really is, because Darcy’s definitely gotten oral from people with way better techniques, but Darcy can’t remember any of them right now. And actually, it normally takes a lot long to get Darcy’s engine purring if you know what she means, and she means that she’s not normally this wet and this aching and this fucking needy so early in the game like she’s some teenage boy who’s just touched boobs for the first time and is totally about to come in his Superman boxers.

Her theory, and she thinks it’s a viable one, is that this is all Jane’s fault. Darcy is squirming because it’s _Jane_ licking and probing and carefully biting down there. It’s the coolest science chick Darcy’s ever met rubbing her nose against Jane’s clit as her tongue snakes into Darcy’s pussy. It’s Dr. Foster pressing one small finger against Darcy’s opening like like like like like someone who _just won’t stick her fucking finger in_ , Jane, please, please, please, you evil tease. Darcy’s about to explode and it’s all stupid Dr. Jane Foster’s fault.

Jane sticks her finger in. There is a God. Jane curls it back like she’s beckoning _come hither_ and Darcy will be happy to oblige just as soon as she can.

“You’re pretty good for a noob,” Darcy pants. Her abs ache from her clenching and unclenching.

Jane pulls her mouth away and smirks. “I do have one of my own,” Jane says. “I know what works.”

“Wow.” Darcy resists the urge to smash her face back in place because you shouldn’t be rude to people who are nice enough to eat you out. But talking is not what Darcy wants Jane to be using her mouth for right now. “It did not take you long to go from nervous to smug.”

Jane just smiles and shrugs as she bends back down. Pride is definitely Jane’s mortal sin, but still, with her hot breath against Darcy’s sopping cunt, Darcy will forgive Jane anything. Darcy’s nice like that and, ooh, fuck, Jane, just like that, just like fucking that.

Darcy’s hand tightens in Jane’s hair and she’s trying really, really, really, really, really hard not to pull too much, but Jane’s tongue is circling, circling, circling Darcy’s clit like a fucking bird of fucking prey and every time her tongue sweeps over this one part, Darcy’s hips spasm and twitch and drive Jane’s finger, no, _fingers_ now deeper inside while Jane uncurls and uncurls and thrusts them in time with her tongue and Darcy’s close, she’s close, she’s close, she’s so so so so so so close that all she needs is one little nudge and she’ll go flying.

“Left,” Darcy says, whines, moans, keens. “Ngh, scoot, left, un poco, yes.”

And thankfully Jane has a doctorate and is capable of filtering out the meaning from the babble because her tongue focuses its attention to the right (“My left! My left!” Darcy squeaks)—to the _left_ of Darcy’s clit, right in that fucking sweet spot where everything is better and nice and good and hold on now the fireworks are coming coming coming come come here let me kiss you on the lips but don’t on second thought because your mouth needs to stay right where it is until Darcy’s done and milked dry and ready to go again and she needs to stay quiet she knows because the police shouldn’t be here not really that was a joke but a little bit of screaming is okay because night’s come and Darcy’s seeing stars.

And then it’s over.

Well, it’s not as abrupt as that. God, it’s not abrupt at all. Darcy spends a good minute sitting back as her vagina pulses like it’s trying to push out a baby. But in a sexy way. Don’t look at her like that, similes are hard when you’re fucked out, especially when Jane’s wicked tongue is still lapping lazily, cleaning Darcy up. It flicks against her clit again and Darcy groans. “Too much,” she mutters as she tries to bat Jane’s face away. “You little pint-sized nympho.”

Jane looks up at her through her lashes. The bottom half of her face is wet and shiny. “Not bad for a first time?” she asks, like she doesn’t know the answer.

“You did alright,” Darcy says. “Don’t let it go to your head or anything.”

She grins and stands, wincing a little as her knees crack, and climbs up into Darcy’s lap. Darcy squeaks in protest as the cotton of Jane’s panties press against Darcy’s swollen and pulsating cunt and cunt accoutrements. “Oh, hush,” Jane says before she tilts back Darcy’s head and kisses her hard. _I am very tangy_ , Darcy thinks and kisses back, wet and sloppy and lazy. Jane responds in kind. Girl’s jaw must be aching. Darcy runs her tongue along the line, sucking and licking her own ladycum off. “You seem strangely into tasting yourself,” Jane says.

“Mmmm,” Darcy mmmms and licks Jane’s nose. “I’m freaking delicious.”

Jane giggles as Darcy’s tongue darts at her ear. “Now who’s smug?”

“Still you.” Darcy runs her hands through Jane’s hair, piling it up on top of her head and letting it fall back down. Her brain shakes off its post-orgasmic stupor. Her limbs seem willing to work properly again. Darcy nuzzles Jane’s cheek before she whispers in her ear, “Come on, Jane. My turn.”

Jane shivers and smiles.

And then the laptop next to them screams like it’s dying.

Jane’s off in a second, scrambling across the roof to shrieking machine. Darcy’s left blinking in the lawn chair. “It’s coming!” Jane shouts without a shred of double entendre. She looks around frantically, circling like a dog chasing its tail, until she sees her pants and grabs them up.

“Um,” Darcy says.

“The storm!” Jane jumps into her jeans. Which is the opposite of what Darcy wants. “Right now, forming at the _exact_ coordinates it hit last time. But this time—” Jane pulls on her tee-shirt and pops out the other side with a manic grin on her face. “This time, we’re gonna be there. The equipment is already in the van, but we gotta book it. If we can get a decent read of it while it’s in progress, we might be able to prove that these storms are not typical meteorological phenomena.”

“That’s cool,” Darcy says, very aware that she is sitting naked in a lawn chair while a mad woman runs around her screaming about science. “Did you want me to eat your pussy or something?”

Jane grins like Darcy’s telling a joke. “Darcy, there’s a _storm_ ,” she says before she runs downstairs.  

Um. Okay.

 _Fuck you, I got mine_ has never been Darcy’s philosophy when it comes to sex, but Jane’s got such a spring in her step that Darcy can’t imagine an orgasm would improve anything.

“Get your clothes on!” Jane shouts up the stairs. “Time to earn your school credits!”

“What?” Darcy faintly hears Erik say. Darcy’ll let Jane deal with that. Darcy focuses on finding her pants. Jane chucked them like ten feet. It’s a miracle she didn’t throw them right off the roof, Darcy thinks as she dusts them off and slips them on.

“ Darcy!” Jane shouts again. The van’s engine growls to life.

“Coming!” Darcy says as she snaps her bra on, hefting her girls back into their cups. She thinks about shouting down some kind of innuendo after that, but the moment is clearly gone. Besides, Darcy’s still feeling a little shaky and stupid. She can’t think of any innuendo besides “Like I just did in your mouth like five minutes ago,” and that’s not really innuendo. That’s just saying it.

With the hem of her shirt, Darcy wipes off the cum that Jane smeared across her face. It’s ridiculous how much she respects Jane, Darcy thinks as she puts the now slightly stained and interestingly scented shirt on. There’s dedication and then there’s _dedication_. Darcy’s pretty sure turning down some amazing oral earns you the latter’s italics. Jane cares about her work like crazy, and Darcy admires the hell out of that.

The horn honks twice. “COME ON!”

But Darcy is going to pin her down later in the back of the van and eat her out until Jane’s freaking _incoherent_. Fair’s fair. With a contented hum, she tugs on her jacket and heads downstairs. “Alright then,” Darcy announces as she hops into the van, Jane strangling the wheel like either she or it is going to choke to death soon if they don’t get going. “Let’s have a threesome with science.”

“What?” Erik says from the passenger seat.

“Nothing,” Jane and Darcy say together as Jane floors it and the van squeals out onto the street in the direction of a massive storm because that’s Darcy’s life now, and all Darcy can think as she lunges for her seatbelt before Jane kills them all is how weirdly well that’s worked out.  

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title that I eventually rejected because you've got to draw the line on sex puns somewhere, and that line is in your title where people browsing for G-rated gen fics can see: "Pussy on a Hot Tin Roof." 
> 
> Well, _I_ thought it was funny.


End file.
